


would you like to say something before you leave (perhaps you'd care to state exactly how you feel)

by dorky (dorcas_gustine)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-04
Updated: 2010-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorcas_gustine/pseuds/dorky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Arthur drops in to visit Cobb and the kids, Cobb suggests an easy job. It's not really easy, but Cobb assumes Eames to be. Arthur isn't happy.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	would you like to say something before you leave (perhaps you'd care to state exactly how you feel)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written because I made a bet with myself, I chose an unfilled prompt from the [Inception kink meme](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/) and tried to write it keeping it under 10K. I managed with the length, but alas the prompt went away from me, so instead it's a story about Arthur being fed up with Cobb bullshit. The original prompt if you're interested is [here](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/3434.html?thread=4345450#t4345450).
> 
>  
> 
>  **SEE THE END NOTES FOR THE WARNINGS, CONTENT MAY BE TRIGGERING FOR SOME.**
> 
>  
> 
> Betaed by **callmebombshell** on LJ.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from a Pink Floyd song.

"I think we should call Eames for this one."

Arthur looked up from one of the three laptops he had open in front of him. "Eames," he echoed. "Eames is in Shanghai. On a job."

Cobb raised his eyebrows at him. "Where is Ariadne?" he asked, his tone careful.

"In Berlin with some friends."

"Irina?"

"Which one?" Arthur asked, checking on his laptop. "The one from that job in Prague is back home in Vladivostock. Irina from Moscow is in Montreal for her best friend's wedding."

Cobb frowned. "You've put some kind of GPS tracking device on every person we've ever worked with, haven't you?"

"It's a microchip installed just behind the right ear, under the skin," Arthur deadpanned. "Practically invisible."

"Is it." Cobb didn't sound at all impressed.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's an easy job," he said, taking the conversation back on track. "The two of us should be enough."

While it was true that any job they'd take now would be easier than the one they had done for Saito, this one was exceptionally easy. So easy in fact, that they were planning it in Cobb's kitchen, doodles and drawings James and Philippa had scattered on the table together with Arthur's notes.

Cobb's mouth turned down in a displeased frown. "We'll need an architect-"

"I can do that," Arthur interrupted him.

"And Eames."

" _Why_?"

"Why not?" Cobb countered. "Is there any reason why you don't want him on this?"

"Eames isn't cheap," Arthur said. The job was paying good, but if they were to split it three-ways it would have barely covered Arthur's expenses: his flight here, three new laptops, two new guns and all the bribes that got him the information he needed.

Cobb sighed. He looked down at the mark's photo he had been contemplating for the past few minutes and then he walked to the magnetic whiteboard Arthur had bought for the occasion (another $550 from Walmart to add to his expenses). He stuck it to the board with a fridge magnet. It was shaped like the Eiffel Tower, a gift from Ariadne no doubt.

Their mark, Richard Baxter, was incredibly mundane. Enough of an asshole to have annoyed some people, but not enough of a bad guy to have annoyed the wrong ones.

Cobb had been contacted by the friend of an acquaintance of a friend, who had asked for his particular kind of expertise - apparently Baxter had stolen some kind of project that was going to be a revolution in the field of household appliances and then he had made some brilliant modifications. The wronged party wanted to retaliate by stealing back the improved project.

A week ago Arthur had stood on Cobb's doorstep, rung the bell, and he had heard the footsteps and Cobb's voice through the door saying, 'no, thanks I'm retired now', and then Cobb had opened the door. He had stared at Arthur for a long moment, his cellphone still to his ear, but Arthur had been able to make out someone going 'Mr. Cobb?' on the other side of that call.

"Never mind," Cobb had said. "I'll take it." And then he had closed his phone, pocketing it. "Arthur."

"Cobb."

"I have a job for us."

Arthur had snorted and shook his head. "So I hear."

And so now Arthur was sitting at Cobb's kitchen table, trying to put his notes in order after James and Philippa had stormed through like a category five hurricane, but with more crayons and Scooby-Doo stickers.

Cobb had a manila envelope filled with photos of their mark - courtesy of Michelle, a private detective that owed Arthur a favor but had still asked to be paid at half price, and that had meant another $1000 to add to Arthur's list of expenses. She wasn't cheap, but just like Eames, she was very good at what she did.

Cobb put up another photo. His movements were slow and deliberate, and Arthur raised his eyes again to see what he was getting at. Cobb stepped away, contemplating his handiwork and Arthur did a double take.

Under the SpongeBob magnet there was a photo who had been clearly taken without the subjects knowing; their mark was looking away to his left, he wore sunglasses even if it was nighttime. Next to him stood a young man Arthur had never seen before, he clearly wasn't among Baxter's known associates or family. He had short, light brown hair, big eyes, a straight nose and full lips.

 _He's pretty_ , was Arthur's first thought.

 _He looks a bit like Eames, if Eames were younger,_ was his second.

And then Cobb put up three other photos right below that one. In each one there was Baxter, always wearing sunglasses, or a hat, and there was always another man next to him, the youngest looked to be barely in his twenties and the oldest in his early thirties. They all shared the same features, though.

Cobb stared at the photos, Arthur stared at the photos and then Cobb was suddenly staring at Arthur. "We need Eames," he said. "I think I figured out a way to get close to the mark."

 

  


* * *

 

"Cobb has a job for you," Arthur said, as soon as he heard the sleepy 'h'llo?'. "I don't think you should accept it." He added after a moment, darting a glance at the man in question.

Cobb seemed amused, staring at him, his arms crossed over his chest.

There was a long stretch of silence from the other end of the phone. Arthur checked his watch. "It's two in the afternoon in Shanghai," he said. "How can you be still sleeping?"

Eames cursed under his breath and then Arthur heard the muffled - but unmistakable - noises of the barely awake as they stumble around an unfamiliar hotel room and discover that their shins were indeed there just to find sharp corners in the dark.

"...Arthur?" Eames asked finally. "Is that you?"

Arthur sighed. "Yes."

"How did you find me?"

"I-" he started, but then Cobb took his phone from him. Arthur glared, but it fell flat against Cobb's shoulders as he turned his back to him.

"Eames!" Cobb greeted. "It's Cobb."

He paused for a moment as he listened to Eames on the other side of the call. "Yes, I know," Cobb said, nodding even though Eames couldn't really see him. "I'm sure he has all of us tracked via GPS. Check behind your ear."

Arthur rolled his eyes and sat back on the chair. He balanced it on two legs, screw Cobb's disapproving frowns, the 'you're going to break it like that, Arthur' and the 'you'll fall and break your head, Arthur'. Cobb was clearly, very painfully a father sometimes.

"I have a job for you, how soon can you be here?"

"Tuesday for us, Wednesday for you."

Cobb listened carefully and then he turned to look at Arthur with a bemused frown. "Yes Eames, I'm calling from yesterday. The wonders of time zones."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, but Cobb just shrugged. Then he suddenly frowned at something Eames had said. "That sounds painful," he said, carefully not meeting Arthur's eyes. "Concussion?"

Arthur straightened up and his chair fell forward to rest on all of its legs. "He has a concussion?"

Cobb waved his concerns away. "Great, I'll send Arthur to pick you up at the airport," he said, but Arthur was already across the room.

He took his phone back from Cobb. "Seriously Eames, don't come," he said.

The only thing he heard was a low chuckle and then the line went dead.

 

  


* * *

 

Eames came out of the International Arrivals with a slight limp and wearing sunglasses that covered at least half of his face. His hair had been mussed by the plane seats no doubt, some strands had rebelled from his usual unflattering gelled-back combing and were sticking out in all directions.

He looked like shit.

"Welcome to the United States, Mr. Eames," he said graciously.

"Fuck you," said Eames, shoving his suitcase at him.

 

  


* * *

 

At first James and Philippa were wary of the grumpy newcomer, they stared at Eames from behind the corner as he sank down on the couch.

It didn't last for long, though.

Just until Eames had fished two stuffed animals of improbable colors out of his luggage and had asked, loudly, to Arthur if there were any children in the house, because he had been told there would be children but he had seen none coming in.

Arthur watched, amused, as Eames was tackled by tiny children that barely reached his knees.

They chorused a 'thank you' and then they were off with their new toys. The whole episode hadn't taken more than a minute and had left a rather bemused Eames lying on the couch, his sunglasses knocked askew and his hair even messier.

"What," Eames said, blinking.

"I see you've met James and Philippa," Cobb snorted from the doorway. "And I hope those were toys with safety standards approved in the US."

Eames grunted and righted himself. Arthur wasn't a gambling man, but he would have put his money on Eames grabbing the first two things he had come across in a random tax-free shop. Cobb should just have been happy his children hadn't ended up with a bottle of whiskey and a box of cigars, really.

"You look like shit, by the way," Cobb said.

Eames looked up at him, bleary. "You try being subjected to the tender ministrations of a crazy bloke with a baseball bat," he said. "Don't ever work with an architect by the name of Shimode, by the way."

Arthur nodded, filing the name away. "Noted."

Eames slapped his thighs and stood up, turning to face Cobb. "So I hear you have a job for me."

 

  


* * *

 

"Our mark is Richard Baxter," Arthur said, writing down the name next to the photo. "He has stolen some plans and our client wants them back."

Eames raised a hand and wiggled his fingers.

Arthur sighed. "Yes, Mr. Eames?"

Eames swallowed the mouthful of Chinese take-away. "Why can't our client steal them?" he asked. "Or hire someone to steal them. It would be much cheaper than hiring us."

"Our client has already hired thieves," Arthur said. "They couldn't find the plans. Our job is to find out where Baxter hid them so that the thieves can get to them."

Eames ate a spring-roll. "Fair enough."

Arthur grimaced. "Has no one ever told you shouldn't talk with your mouth full?"

Eames just grinned.

"Funnily enough, this brings us to the next topic," Cobb said, smiling slightly. He seemed very satisfied with his frankly cheap pun.

Arthur didn't share his amusement and he made it perfectly clear with the deadpan look he sent his way.

Eames raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Arthur slapped the other relevant photos on the whiteboard. "Baxter isn't married," he said. "His interests lie elsewhere. He's been very careful, which would explain why our client hasn't blackmailed the plans out of him."

"But not as careful as Michelle is good," Cobb interjected.

"Are you briefing or am I?" Arthur asked.

Cobb raised his hands and signaled to please, continue.

"Who's Michelle?" asked Eames.

"One of Arthur's friends."

"Arthur has _friends_?"

Arthur glared at both of them. "Michelle is a private detective," he explained. "And as Cobb has said, she is very good."

"So Baxter likes boys," Eames said, contemplating the pictures. Arthur saw the exact moment Eames got it, his body went rigid for an almost imperceptible moment. He would have missed it, if he hadn't been looking for it.

Eames narrowed his eyes at Arthur.

"Don't look at me," Arthur said. "It was his idea. I told you not to come."

Eames went back to studying Baxter's young men with a calculating look. "I need to go shopping."

Cobb grinned. "I knew you'd take this one," he said. "Take Arthur with you, he's the one with the Gold MasterCard."

He didn't see the way Eames was squinting, though, small lines forming at the corner of his eyes.

 

  


* * *

 

Eames had been a conman before getting into the dreaming business, or a spy if Arthur's guesses regarding his military background were accurate. So it came as no surprise that he was very good with disguises in the real world, as well as in the dream one.

With his new clothes - nothing complicated, just some dark jeans, a white t-shirt, a gray striped shirt and sneakers ($240 from Gap) - his face clean-shaven and his hair a careful mess of spikes he could have passed for Boy #3's older brother.

Eames was staring into the bathroom mirror, looking at himself and trying out various poses and expressions while Arthur and Cobb observed him from the doorway.

"What do you think?" Eames asked, meeting their eyes in the mirror. His accent was American, non-descript with just a hint of West Coast. "Nice to meet you, I'm Jamie," he said, then. The words were colored with flirting, the 'nice' stressed just enough to make it clear he was interested, but not so much as to be too obvious.

Arthur looked at the man in Cobb's bathroom and couldn't see Eames.

"You're a little older than Baxter's usual demographic," Cobb said. "But you look younger like this." It wasn't a compliment, just a statement of fact. "I'm impressed."

Eames- No, _Jamie_ \- laughed. It was light, and while Arthur had never heard Eames laugh and thus had no way to compare the two, he was quite sure Eames wouldn't sound like that. Jamie laughed carelessly, as if he had laughter to spare and it didn't matter if he wasted a few. Jamie laughed like a young man would.

"Good job, Eames," Cobb said, patting him on the back and leaving to see the kids to bed.

Arthur lingered, he watched as the man in front of him slumped a little, all the confidence of the young and beautiful leaving him to make space for the careful tension and the awareness of a man who was used to a life of dangers and deceptions.

It was a couple of moments before Eames acknowledged the fact that Arthur still hadn't left. "What is it?" he asked, staring at him through the mirror.

This Eames was better-groomed and wore nice clothes, in a way he was much better looking than the Eames Arthur was used to. "Nothing," he said.

Arthur turned to leave, but he hesitated on the threshold. He didn't look back, not sure if he was giving Eames the privacy to lie or giving himself the luxury of the delusion of truth. "You don't have to, you know," he said. "Cobb sometimes doesn't understand how much he expects out of people."

Eames snorted. "You would know." Arthur heard the drum of fingers on the counter. "It's alright."

 

  


* * *

 

Two days later the plan was ready. Arthur had prepared Jamie's background - he was in town to visit some friends but they had no spare room - and had provided some false IDs, nothing too fancy really, and Cobb was out renting a car. The children were at pre-school.

Eames was still Eames, but there was something hiding behind his frown. They had known each other for years and even before that they had known _of_ each other, but it was a fleeting kind of knowledge, built around hotels and warehouses and airports and seedy safe-houses that were never homes. It was true that in the dream-world time flowed differently, but if Arthur were to calculate all the time he'd spent with Eames - both in dreams and reality - he would have come up with something a little less than a year.

That was still the longest he'd known anyone in this business, with the exception of Mal and Cobb.

But Eames had spent the last few days crashing on Cobb's couch, while Arthur had taken residence in the guest room, he'd seen him in the mornings and in the evenings. He knew he slept in pajamas even if Los Angeles was warm, he knew how he took his coffee and that he liked sweet things. It had been strange, witnessing Eames actually being a human being and not some co-worker that appeared at the appointed hour to work with them.

Arthur had always made a point of keeping his job separated from everything else and, like with many things, he had only ever made an exception for Mal and Cobb. And that had turned out to be less than pleasant.

Cobb had no baby-sitters, though, and it had to be a job from home, and Arthur and Eames had come straight from the airport and they had started working at once, and they had kept working well into the night. When Arthur had turned to tell him to come on, that he was going to drive him to a hotel he'd turned to find Eames already soundly asleep on the couch. There weren't many hotels in the area who would accept a three a.m. check-in, anyway.

There was something strange in seeing Eames standing in the middle of Cobb's living room, where Arthur and Mal and James and Philippa had stood, he didn't fit the picture. He didn't look like Eames, and yet he was and yet he wasn't. Not that the usual Eames wouldn't have been just as foreign anyway.

And still, Arthur stared at Eames and saw something there, something that made him uncomfortable. "Didn't you tell me that you never run cons as yourself?" he asked.

"I used to, before I got into the dreaming business," Eames said with a shrug. "It was a long time ago. And the con starts in the real world, anyway."

They had gone under a couple of times to check the timeline, and Eames had kept his face the whole time - Jamie's face, Eames' face as Jamie. They both knew dreams didn't need to be very specific, Eames could have just forged a sort of archetype of Baxter's tastes in men.

Arthur pointedly didn't point it out.

"I'm not sure I'd be able to maintain the forge," Eames said. "If."

Arthur gave him a sharp look, then his eyes fell on the photos they had left hanging on the board. He watched the way Baxter's right hand disappeared behind Boy #2's back, curling around his hips. "You've done this before," said Arthur. "Haven't you?"

Eames grinned. "Sure," he said. "I seduce marks all the time."

There was the sound of keys coming from the front door, and then Cobb was suddenly in the hallway and Eames was gone, Jamie in his his place.

"Dom," Jamie said with a smile as he went to greet him, his posture much straighter than Eames', moving his hips with a playful swagger. " _Welcome_ back."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jesus."

This was going to be a disaster, he just knew it.

 

  


* * *

 

Cobb had to find a baby-sitter in the end, despite the fact that the children would be in bed right now, despite the fact that the whole operation shouldn't take more than a couple of hours.

Eames had entered the club twenty minutes ago, and Arthur gave him another twenty before he went in and checked how his seduction of Baxter was faring. After that there would be a ten minutes walk to Baxter's preferred hotel, and then another ten minutes to sedate Baxter and hook him up on the PASIV. Seven minutes under and then they would be gone.

Arthur tore his eyes away from the club entrance and looked at Cobb. "He's not-"

"He'll do it," Cobb said. "He's good, don't worry about it."

Arthur stared at him for a long moment. "You're an asshole, sometimes," he said, more frustrated than angry.

He went back to watching the flow of people in and out of the club, checking for the familiar face, and he ignored Cobb's shocked eyes.

Ten minutes later Eames - Jamie - came out, Baxter hanging from his back. He didn't even shoot a glance their way.

Cobb was right, Eames was good at what he did, the best. That was exactly what Arthur was worried about.

He threw the rental car in reverse and the tyres screeched on the asphalt as they peeled away, preceding Eames to the hotel.

 

  


* * *

 

They were four minutes behind on the schedule, and Arthur knew Eames was more than capable of taking care of himself and he knew that this was an easy job. He knew that four minutes were nothing worrying and had to be factored in the timeline. What if Baxter had suggested another drink at the hotel bar? What if he had gone to the bathroom as soon as they had gotten into the room, leaving Eames no choice but to wait to sedate him?

Arthur knew, but that didn't mean he didn't have the urge to run up to the room and kick down the door, because fuck- they were going in blind, _Eames_ was going in blind, and Baxter might not have bodyguards and a militarized subconscious, but Arthur hated going in blind.

He had made that mistake only once, and Saito had been shot and they all had almost been lost to Limbo.

And then Arthur's cellphone rang. "Hey," it was Eames - Eames, not Jamie - a little out of breath. "I've put him to sleep, come on up. Room 627," he added after a moment.

He shouldn't have, Baxter always asked for that room.

Two minutes later Eames opened the door to room 627 to let Arthur and Cobb in. "What took you so long?" asked Arthur, as Cobb pushed past them to get the PASIV device ready.

Eames shrugged, his t-shirt was askew and the shirt had a few buttons missing. "What can I say, I'm irresistible," he smiled, lopsided, all his 'r's curling around in his mouth, and Arthur was stupidly relieved he had dropped the act, even if it would be for just a minute until they went under and he would be Jamie again.

'Are you sure?' Arthur wanted to ask at the cost of sounding like an overprotective mother.

The look in Eames' eyes stopped him, though. It was hard and almost angry. "I can do this," Eames hissed harshly and Arthur wondered who he was trying to fool most of all.

 

  


* * *

 

Arthur had scoped the hotel a few days before Eames was supposed to hook up with Baxter, he had done a fairly good job at recreating it if he said so himself. With the exception of the sixth floor, every other floor in the building was the same, a simple maze with the sixth floor accessible only by a short-cut Arthur had added in the staircase. The elevator was conveniently out-of-order.

Arthur was saddled with being the architect and taking care of security, in normal circumstances it would have been too much, but Baxter's subconscious wasn't militarized and as Cobb had pointed out on several occasions, Eames should have been able to keep him plenty distracted.

He really was an asshole.

In addition to the safes in every room, the hotel had a vault on the ground floor and Cobb was hovering in the lobby waiting for the okay from Arthur. The problem was that for Arthur to give the okay, he'd have to check Eames had Baxter plenty distracted.

He had a key-card for room 627, so getting in wouldn't be a problem, but Arthur wasn't quite sure he'd want to check if Eames had Baxter plenty distracted. It was ridiculous, he knew, as Eames himself had said, he'd seduced his share of marks.

He swiped the key-card with a ruthless gesture, almost violent, and the door clicked open soundlessly. Not that Arthur would have been noticed if he had kicked down the door and broke in armed with a rocket-launcher.

Baxter had his back to him and he was presently occupied in tearing - or rather, ripping - Eames out of his clothes. Arthur couldn't see his hands, but by the movements of his shoulders and his arms, he doubted he'd left any part of Eames untouched. He was whispering filthy things into Eames' ear, too low for Arthur to hear, but he caught a 'spank' and a 'fuck' in there and Eames- Eames just chuckled and breathed and panted and used his Jamie-voice.

Arthur had seen his father mercy-killing a dog, once. This was possibly the only time he'd been close to feel what he had felt that day.

And then Eames met his eyes over Baxter's shoulder. He blinked, surprised, but he didn't stop with the little moans and the encouragements and the whispers. He raised a hand and gave him a thumb-up.

Arthur felt like taking out his gun and shooting everybody.

He just nodded and left the room noiselessly.

"You have a go," he said into the phone and he closed it before Cobb could reply.

He hurried over to the short-cut so he could reach the lobby and cover for him. He'd stay out of sight and intervene only in the event of actual danger, which was unlikely to happen at all. He was between floors three and two when Cobb called him back.

"We may have a problem," said Cobb.

Arthur cursed and sped up. Of course. Of course there would be a problem.

"I found the vault."

Arthur frowned and stopped dead in his tracks. "What? Already?"

"It was surprisingly easy, in fact," Cobb said. "But maybe because there was nothing inside."

"Fuck."

Cobb snorted. "My thoughts exactly."

Of course the vault would be empty. Baxter always asked for room 627, it had a nice view, but most of all it had the stairs on one side and a supply closet on the other. No neighbouring residents who could hear what was going on in the room.

Arthur should have known, it was his job to know and to anticipate, but he had been distracted. It was no excuse, he knew, but that was all the explanation he had. He'd been distracted by Cobb and his absolute, adamant resolve to take this job, by the way Eames had lied and shrugged everything off like it was no big deal was too fucking similar to the way Eames said the truth and shrugged everything off like it was no big deal.

By the way Eames had disappeared into fucking Jamie and the way his shirt had been ripped open and his fucking lopsided smile and Jesus fucking Christ Cobb had whored him out for a fucking _blender_.

"I know where it is," he said.

"Whe-"

"Stay put," he snapped.

He terminated the call and turned around, taking the stairs two at a time and composing a new number at the same time.

"Wha-" Eames answered after five rings, he sounded breathless and frowning. Arthur could hear Baxter in the background telling him to come back to bed, sweetheart. And goddammit, Arthur couldn't even entertain the thought of breaking his face because he really wasn't to blame, he thought Eames was just some guy he had picked up in a club. A fucking consenting adult.

"I need access to the room, the safe is in there," he told him. "You have fifteen."

 

  


* * *

 

Cobb called him ten minutes in, telling him that the projections were starting to get restless around him, so they had to reverse their roles. Arthur was doing the extracting, and Cobb was saddled with leading them around through the maze.

The fifteen minutes he'd given Eames had been up for at least two minutes by now, and Arthur had no more excuses. He fished out the key-card and slipped into the room. Neither Eames nor Baxter were in sight, but the bathroom door was ajar and there was the sound of the shower running. Arthur tried very hard to ignore the sound of human voices, distorted by the tiles and the water.

He went straight to the safe, cracked it in half a minute and then he was reading the papers inside and the job was done.

A fucking walk in the park.

From the bathroom came the sounds of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh and deep, guttural moans, and Eames', higher and breathless.

 

  


* * *

 

The first words out of Arthur's mouth as soon as they woke up were for Cobb, the location of the stolen plans, but he wasn't looking at him. He was staring at Eames, watching him closely as he blinked awake and sat up.

"Good job," Cobb said, possibly to Arthur, possibly to the room at large.

Eames' face was a careful blank, not Jamie's and not Eames' own, a mask over a mask over a mask. He slid the needle out of his vein and accepted the cotton imbued with alcohol from Arthur. He let his eyes sweep the room, as if looking for something.

Arthur watched as Eames grabbed the notepad on the nearest night-table and scribbled something down, deliberately sitting with his back to the bathroom. Eames noticed him looking and raised his eyes. "Goodbye note," he explained. "Jaime is going to be so disappointed our boy Baxter fell asleep during," he added and then he grinned, but it was slipping and Arthur gave him the courtesy of averting his gaze.

Arthur busied himself with putting the PASIV away, and by the time he had snapped the suitcase shut, Eames had already left.

Cobb cleared his voice. "We should go, Baxter is going to wake up soon," he said. "Are you coming back with-" he trailed off when Arthur turned around and faced him. "You have that look in your eyes," Cobb said then, his eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Arthur's grip on the PASIV case was starting to hurt, he could imagine the sound of the bones in his hand grinding together. "What look?"

"Like you're about to punch me."

"Maybe because I am."

To his credit, Cobb didn't seem too surprised. He stared at Arthur for a long moment, then he turned and started at the space Eames had just vacated. "I'm missing something here, aren't I?" he asked then, causing Arthur to snort loudly. "Are you and Eames..." he started, his eyes narrowed in speculation.

"I came here to spend time with you and the children, not to do a job," Arthur said, shocking both of them. It wasn't what he had intended to say, what he had intended to say had more swear words and rage. Or maybe it was. "I'll be back, maybe, but if you pull something like this again I'll fucking disappear from the face of the planet," he went on, his voice low and calm.

"Arthur-"

Arthur cut him off. "You said you're not in the business anymore, so stay out of it," he growled. "I'll come by to get my things tomorrow."

 

  


* * *

 

When Arthur emerged from the elevator into the lobby, Eames had long gone.

Arthur wasn't a man without resources, though. And many people in this city owed him a favor.

 

  


* * *

 

It took thirty-five minutes for a text message to be delivered to Arthur's phone with the location of Eames' new hotel and room number. The hotel was in the area and it took Arthur another fifteen minutes to get there.

Despite the late hour, no one questioned his presence as he walked through the lobby and headed for the elevator. The man reflected in the metal doors looked like someone out for blood. Arthur took a deep breath and loosened his grip on the case.

He really should have punched Cobb.

Breaking into Eames' room was laughably easy, even if Arthur's lock-picking skills were a bit rusty - that was the truth he knew, but he would have never admitted it outside the boundaries of his own mind.

The room was in complete darkness, but Arthur could make out the dark shapes of clothes scattered all over the room and the bed, and there was a sliver of light coming out from under the bathroom door. No sound came from in there, the shower wasn't on, but if Arthur strained his ears enough he could hear the faint _plick, plick_ of water leaking from a faucet.

Arthur laid the case on the bed and sat down to wait.

He didn't know how long it was, but it couldn't have been more than ten minutes. The bathroom door swung open, and all Arthur could see in the darkness was Eames' figure clad in a bathrobe. He was nothing but a dark silhouette standing against the brightness of the bathroom.

He also had a gun.

Even as distracted as Eames must have been, raising and pointing the gun at Arthur's head was instinctive. His whole body went rigid for a moment and then he seemed to sag unto himself with a sigh. "Arthur."

"You bring your gun with you in the shower?"

Eames snorted. "Don't tell me you do any different."

"I bring two," said Arthur.

Eames laughed.

"You could have showered at Cobb's," Arthur said, but not because it would have been more practical. "All your clothes are there."

Eames shrugged. "Somehow I don't think he'd appreciate a naked Englishman parading around his house. As dashing as I may be."

Arthur nodded, conceding the point. "Not to mention the gun."

No one mentioned that the problem with Cobb's house was that it usually had Cobb in it.

They remained silent for a long moment, and then Eames moved away from the doorway and padded - barefoot, Arthur shuddered - through the room and turned on the lights. The first thing Arthur noticed after adjusting to the new source of light was that Eames was dry. He was too dry for someone who had supposedly just taken a shower.

"Why, Arthur, I didn't know you found bathrobes quite so fascinating," he drawled. "Or the people in them."

Arthur hastily looked away. He could feel Eames' eyes on him as he stared, and Eames wasn't a stupid man, he had to have known what Arthur had been looking at.

And of course Eames knew. "I turned on the shower and then I sat on the toilet for forty-fucking-five minutes," he said. "Stupid, isn't it?"

Arthur looked down at the floor.

"Do you know a hotel that has baths around here?"

 

  


* * *

 

Arthur went down to the lobby, tossed his Gold MasterCard on the counter and asked for the most expensive room.

Providing it had a bath.

 

  


* * *

 

"I couldn't go back to Cobb's house," Eames would say later, fresh from a bath and lying back on the bed in a fluffy, warm blue bathrobe. "There were the children and the- the photos. And I-"

Arthur would nod. "He shouldn't have forced us to work there," he would say, meaning 'you'. "It was incredibly... _sloppy_."

Eames would snort and repeat the 'sloppy' and then snort again. "Maybe so, but it was more _convenient_ ," he would say then, meaning 'I'. "Easier."

The meaning of their words would remain hidden behind masks and disguises and words unsaid, but there would be nothing ambiguous when Arthur would say, "I'm fucking done working with him." And then after a moment to calm down, he'd continue, "I'm done being left in the dark. I'm done-" he'd trail off, leaving out the 'what the hell, a fucking _household appliances_ pimp'.

"Thank you," Eames would say then, softly, gesturing towards the bathroom and beyond it, the bath itself, but he'd be alluding to something else entirely.

"You're welcome."

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for swearing, dub-con and prostitution.


End file.
